


On Yielding to Temptation

by farevenasdecidedtouse



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/pseuds/farevenasdecidedtouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the TGE kink meme: "Beshelar refuses to admit it, even to himself, but kinks hard on the idea of calm, collected Csevet turning into a wanton, sex-crazed and kinky sub in bed.</p><p>So when the opportunity arises, he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.</p><p>Up to the author how Csevet actually is, from shamelessly kinky as fuck, to seriously damaged by courier-related past non-con, or anything in between."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Is this how thou'rt used by his Serenity, wanton?” Deret’s voice was a low growl. “Wert chosen from thy courier’s rank for thy knowledge of court affairs or for the skill of thy mouth?” 

Around Deret’s prick Csevet emitted a strangled moan. His watering eyes met Deret’s, ears pinned in concentration, and Deret was unable to keep from thrusting brutally forward, hard enough to provoke a gag from that ardent white throat but not hard enough to still the practised attention. His release was close enough to taste, lingering in his mouth like the tang of blood as Csevet’s tongue enveloped the straining tip of his prick before leaning forward, cheeks hollowing, sucking the swollen head far enough down his throat to choke…

With a grunt only partially stifled by his clenched teeth Deret spilled thickly into his hand, stripe after stripe of seed coating it and his bared chest. Several measured breaths later he rose, face and ears a carefully neutral mask, to the basin before the small mirror to clean himself thoroughly before returning to his narrow bed.

Sleep beckoned but still eluded Deret with his every shift and turn beneath the sheets. It was the third time in as many days he had so enjoyed the thought of Csevet’s less than orthodox skills and truly it was only a matter of time before such distraction began to bleed through to his time on duty as well. The thought shamed him more than the thought of abusing himself to dreams of a colleague—indeed, a male one. Under any other circumstances short of an interrogation from the Emperor himself, Deret would have denied any tendency toward marnism. (What happened in the barracks, after all, stayed in the barracks.) It was merely the popular image of the courier, the eager wanton ready to spread legs for any bored noblewoman or ardent libertine, that made his pulse gallop in Csevet’s presence, eyes drifting toward the fine-boned hands and rapt grey eyes and wondering how Csevet would react if shoved roughly against the nearest wall, polished court secretary’s exterior cracking like a badly-lacquered fingernail to reveal the desperate, hungry _whore_ that Deret so craved.

More shame, however, lay in his knowledge of Csevet’s past. While Deret had not been personally on duty for Csevet’s tale of his narrow escape from Eshevis Tethimar, as a nohecharis it was next to impossible not to become privy to the innermost secrets of the rest of the Emperor’s inner circle through the simple observation demanded on a daily basis and he had subsequently become well-acquainted with the details. The thought of the capture and ensuing violation that might have been horrified and disgusted him in all its particulars, but such similar thoughts had informed so many of his imaginings that he wondered how he could still look Csevet in the eye. The gods only knew what Csevet had truly had to endure; things that would shrivel Deret’s ardour to a withered stump to hear from Csevet’s lips but that in long sessions in the darkness of his room had brought him to crisis time and time again.

Deret shifted onto his other side, barely managing to stifle an explosive sigh. Clearly, something had to give, and that something was the last vestige of his self-respect and regard for a maddeningly unimpeachable colleague. As the first bell sounded somewhere from beyond the Alcethmaret, Deret pointedly closed his eyes and waited, stoically, for sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The late afternoon sun cut through the Emperor’s private office windows in cold, heavy swathes as Deret once again willed his attention away from the Zhao guild’s surprising clock counting down the short minutes toward the end of his shift. A deliberate scan of the room, windows to the wall hangings to the door and back, caused his attention to drift past Csevet and the Emperor in earnest conversation at the spacious writing desk (the sensitive tip of one of Edrehasivar’s stormcloud-hued ears close enough to nearly brush Csevet’s, Deret cursed himself for noticing) only to have his attention rudely drawn back by a familiar name.

“We are afraid that the Tethimada have requested the return of Eshevis Tethimar’s mortal remains once the correct protocols have been observed by the Witnesses for the Dead.” Csevet held forth a pneumatic correspondence tube, calm tone hardly alleviating the sharp twitch of Deret’s ears, a motion he felt sure Cala at the very least must have noticed. He forced his features and posture into their usual neutral composure as Csevet continued, “The request is essentially a formality at this point, something to save internal face regarding familial loyalty.”

“What, exactly, would be done with those mortal remains in the absence of a family crypt or plot in which to inter them?” Edrehasivar asked, briefly resting the bridge of his nose between two knuckles.

“We honestly could not say, Serenity. Our advice would be to send back a polite but firm missive stating that the correct proceedures will be observed by the Ulimeire, including the preparation and interment that would be protocol for an individual dead in Tethimar’s position.”

“He would be better hung from a gibbet in the Cetho square.” The words were muttered before Deret’s mind could overpower his baser instinct.

Edrehasivar’s alarmed look, so similar to his reaction following Deret’s last uncontained outburst, would have been bad enough, if not for the soft, steel-cored voice from a point past the Emperor’s shoulder: “We understand your statement, Lieutenant, but in avoiding presenting Tethimar as a martyr to his cause subtlety is not only preferable but—“

“ _How can_ you _, of all men, argue for that creature’s dignity_?”

Cala jerked with surprise at the roar of Deret’s voice, an outburst he immediately regretted as the Emperor seemed to shrink in on himself. Csevet, meanwhile, stepped in an ironically protective manner between Edrehasivar and his sworn guard. “Lieutenant Beshelar. Please.”

If a revethvoreis'atha had been to hand, Deret would have opened his veins then and there under that sharp grey gaze. “Forgive us,” Deret bit out, heart pounding in his ears with emotions he dared not put names to. “We spoke sorely out of turn and will accept any reprimand you would deem acceptable, Serenity.”

“We do not feel that is necessary.” Edrehasivar’s voice was quiet but firm. “We understand and most heartily empathize with your ire on Mer Aisava’s behalf. However, he is correct that a certain tact would be best in this situation, and we would ask you to make any further opinions known in a less startling manner.”

A chuckle from Cala seemed to defuse the ambient tension, though the tension in Deret’s mind and body remained. Practically vibrating like an over-tight bowstring he paced his spot checks through the remaining minutes of the meeting, bowed to the Emperor, and turned to go just as Csevet stepped quickly next to him. “A word, if you would, Lieutenant?”

The bottom dropped out of Deret’s world. Cold tendrils of trepidation wormed their way through his limbs, but it was with a calm voice that he answered, “Privately, Mer Aisava?”

“Of course.” Csevet stepped away, and some turns through the halls of the Alcethmaret later Deret found himself facing Csevet across a table in a small, barely-used public audience room. Csevet tapped his hornbook against the table to square off the papers on its surface and asked, “Lieutenant, are you well?”

“A moment of weakness beneath us and our station,” Deret replied, unable to meet Csevet’s eyes.

“We fear it must be more than that.” Csevet stepped closer, and Deret knew, knew with a sickening twist of his innards, that Csevet had suspicions. What exactly he had guessed Deret shuddered to think, but as Csevet opened his mouth to inquire further Deret blurted, “We see enough of our own behaviour in Tethimar to be repulsed.”

“Your—“ Csevet blinked several times. “Lieutenant, we have no idea what you are talking about.”

“If you have noticed our behaviour toward you then surely our shameful desires will be no secret,” Deret ground out, hardly able to picture the shock and disgust surely writ large on Csevet’s face. “Of late we have been unable to keep from entertaining sordid thoughts about you and your former profession, thoughts that run so close to the actual indignities visited upon you by the late Dach’osmer Tethimar and no doubt others that our own guilt and… and desire afflict us at all times in your presence. Our earlier statement regarding the Emperor’s reprimand for such behaviour remains, and—“

“Lieutenant Beshelar!” Deret choked on his words, unsure how he had actually been planning to continue. Csevet, eyes locked on Deret’s with an intensity that would have made a lesser man squirm, took a step toward him. “Merciful goddesses, slow down. We would hardly be in a position to ask the Emperor to reprimand a first nohecharis on our behalf, even if that nohecharis had done anything particularly wrong.”

It was Deret’s turn to stare in surprise. “But… the impropriety that has led us to act in an unprofessional manner in the Emperor’s presence, and your own…”

“It is true,” Csevet began with a deep breath, “that our past in the courier service left us with a certain amount of fear and distress that lingers with us still, particularly regarding the popular tawdry image of the profession. It is also true that we would hope to generally discourage such a mentality throughout the Ethuveraz. However, a single man’s desires are his own and save if you have ever felt in danger of acting upon them we see no particular reason for you to feel guilt over them. Quite frankly, we can only question why you proceeded straight to such a confession.”

“We felt,” Deret muttered, “that you deserved to know the depths our thoughts sink to that you might judge us fairly in accordance.”

The light step toward him reached his ears before the actual sight of Csevet’s pale, refined face close to his, sharp angles softened by the single gas lamp. “The fact that you would consider us an equal deserving of this knowledge in reality, whatever you might desire in your bed, sets you apart from any who ever took advantage of us in our past.”

“Nonetheless,” Deret replied, unknotting his spine to straighten and face Csevet, pointedly ignoring the flush he could feel spreading up his neck, “we apologize for our unseemly outburst and must assure you that, as you say, acting upon such a thing would be the furthest possible thing from our mind.”

“We accept your apology,” Csevet replied, fingers stroking the corners of his hornbook in an entirely too-distracting manner, “though we feel that we should mention the school of thought stating that the best way to overcome one’s fear is to confront it head-on.”

Deret blinked, then froze in shock at the feeling of Csevet’s lips against his.


	3. Chapter 3

Every bit of propriety that Deret had internalized through the years screamed as one for him to pull away, to leave the room with copious apologies for having appealed to Csevet’s apparently strong baser urges. His own baser urges, however, forced open his mouth, allowed a hiss of breath to escape his nose as his ears pricked upright in an obscene parody of other portions of his anatomy.

“It has also been said that the only way to truly overcome a temptation is to yield to it,” Csevet murmured, breaking the kiss after what might have been minutes. Deret’s expression and silence must have been sufficiently dumbfounded that Csevet added, “If you do not want this, or would rather wait—“

It was Csevet’s turn to gasp in surprise as Deret pulled him close, the forceful crush of his lips driven by the countless nights of self-abuse and longing Csevet seemed determined to evoke with every answering press. A light flick of Csevet’s tongue over his lips very nearly undid the rest of his composure and he pulled closer, hands grasping Csevet’s upper arms hard enough to bruise in the sudden absence of any other idea of where to put them. His mind was blank, the only things occupying it the surprising softness of Csevet’s lips and the press of his thin frame, neck crooked for the few scant inches’ difference in their height. “Have you done this before? We admit we are… unsure as to how to proceed,” Deret said in a rush of stolen breath.

“We will gladly show you the way,” Csevet murmured. “The life of the courier does, after all, prepare one for such eventualities.” The obscene throb that shivered outward from Deret’s already-straining prick at the words was nothing less than perversely satisfying. Still half-paralyzed with surprise and reticence (truly, how could anyone willingly debase themself so?) his breath seemed pulled forcibly from his lungs as Csevet drew back from him, drawing a key from the ring at his belt to secure the door.

“Will you put your hands to me to claim me, Lieutenant Beshelar?” Csevet’s slender fingers encircled his, placing sword-calloused hands onto linen-clad hips low enough for a suggestion of impropriety just short of outright lewdness, and Deret was hard-pressed not to push Csevet back hard enough against the door to knock his head. The invitation evident in his use of the first informal pulled Deret forward as inexorably as those same hands, now tracing the corded muscles of Deret’s upper arms.

“You will tell us if we overstep ourself,” Deret said, low words half a question and half an order.

“I will gladly do so an you come anywhere close,” Csevet replied.

The insinuating hint of impatience in the words were, finally, enough to crash through the last vestiges of Deret’s upright resolve like a stone through glass panes. Lips crushed Csevet’s, tongue ravishing the soft, eager expanse of his mouth in lieu of any of the threatening bluster that had filled Deret’s mouth in his overheated dreams. Csevet’s soft, breathless moans were enough to drive Deret half-mad, to make him anchor a rough fist in Csevet’s cobweb-hued hair, to close the distance between unyielding muscle and wiry, avid flesh and _grasp_ for dear life. Everywhere before him it seemed there was a new inch of Csevet’s marble pillar of a neck to press bruising kisses to or a clothing-obscured patch of flesh the merest brush of which provoked another murmur of encouragement. A moment’s fumbling and Csevet’s tashin sticks clinked to the floor next to the two of them, leaving his hair to spill around his red-marked neck and askew collar in a most appealing manner. Another and the layers that composed winter court dress were falling away under avid hands. Yet another and skin met skin, both satisfying and maddening to the void of touch Deret had so long endured, never filling with his solitary dreams and fumbling. Csevet’s fingers trailed lightly up Deret’s naked back, provoking a twitch that deepened into a body-racking shudder as Csevet’s lips found the flushed tip of one ear and closed around it to suck.

“You will undo us without a single lewd touch,” Deret gasped.

“Will you not refer to me in the familiar?” Csevet replied with an obscene flick of his tongue into the pointed hollow of Deret’s ear that made Deret writhe. “For verisimilitude, of course.” Deret barely had time to make an assenting noise before Csevet’s knees met the thick green upholstery beneath their feet. A moment of fumbling later and Deret’s rigid length was in his _mouth,_ wet and hot and so inviting that all of Deret’s martial self-control was barely enough to keep him from choking Csevet on his spend in that very instant.

“Y—thou art as dissolute as we had hoped in our wildest dreams,” Deret managed, wrestling his thoughts into some semblance of their original purpose past the overwhelming shudders of sensation drawn from him with every stroke of Csevet’s lips.

“To have desired this so long—“ Csevet’s reply came between long strokes of his tongue, ink-dappled fingers grasping the few inches of shaft unconquerable by his mouth, “must surely have driven you half mad with guilt and longing. Is this how you have thought of me?” A strangled, encouraging noise from Deret provoked a brief pressure of lips around the base of the throbbing head. “Driving you to violate me through no fault of your own? Desperate for you despite it all?”

With a cry of frustrated desire Deret’s hand found a thick skein of Csevet’s hair, yanking him to his feet to crush him once again between himself and the locked door. “Darest thou to tell us our own mind, thou slattern?” Deret growled. For the briefest of moments he feared he had gone too far, that Csevet would retreat into himself like Edrehasivar if pushed too far and Deret would be left with nothing but his own self-loathing and perversity in addition to his betrayal of a friend.

But with a strength born of some desperate urge Deret doubted he could ever understand Csevet twisted in his grasp, leaving his back pressed to Deret’s chest and apparently unable to keep from rutting forward to give his erect prick some purchase between his own stomach and the door. “I have no say in the matter. Use me as you would.”

Fully aware of the implication of Csevet’s pose but sufficiently unsure of the mechanics as to pause in alarm, Deret stifled a sigh of relief as Csevet straightened, leading him toward the table at the center of the room. As gracefully as he did anything else, Csevet raised himself onto the surface to spread himself, knees apart and back supine, in a wanton display that made Deret catch his breath. His cock, surprisingly thick and jutting from a pale nest of curls a shade darker than the rest of his hair, lay heavily against his stomach. “As you would a woman,” Csevet murmured, ordinarily alert grey eyes hooded in anticipation.

Csevet’s mouth had left Deret’s cock wet enough to drip, and he welcomed the ease with which it slid into the proffered hole. The angle felt so strange as to be uncomfortable, but with a small grunt of discomfort Csevet shifted beneath him and suddenly he was moving, hips rocking against him, _around_ him. “Wouldst be so despoiled by us before his Serenity?” Deret growled, fingers tightening hard enough to bruise on the stark lines of Csevet’s hips. The visceral twitch of Csevet’s own organ suggested an answer in the affirmative, and Deret pressed on: “Were we to bend thee over this table in his full view and have our fill of thee wouldst weep for humiliation or beg for us to finish thee for our amusement, and his?”

Slender arms reached up to twine insistently about Deret’s neck, drawing them close enough for Deret to lift Csevet bodily from the table. The slight, warm weight in his arms bucked and writhed with every thrust, not hard enough to leave the well-muscled Deret in any danger of losing his grip but with an enthusiasm that would have dispelled any remaining doubts as to Csevet’s eagerness had Deret’s mind not been emptied of them—and anything else—with his ingress. It was over in moments, Deret’s climax taking him with a grunt and a battery of bruisingly hard thrusts he might at any other time have held back from for fear of harming his partner, but judging by the noises Csevet was making, the way he met them with a desperate rutting against any available friction, such things were not unpleasing to him. He came with a cry only half-muffled by the crook of Deret’s neck, seed spreading stickily over the fronts of both their remaining clothes to match that now pooling obscenely onto the table’s edge from Csevet’s ravaged hole.

With arms betraying the slightest tremor, Deret lowered Csevet to his feet, feeling his slowly softening cock slide from Csevet’s hole with an obscene motion that made him gasp. “Canst stand?” he asked, hands clasping Csevet’s arms in a grip he belatedly realized was far too tight. “Art thou all right?”

“Yes. I am quite well. As I stated, I have… confronted my fears in such a manner before. But rarely with anyone quite so solicitous,” Csevet said, voice rougher than Deret had ever heard it. “And you?”

“We—“ Deret swallowed. “My own well-being is hardly important in the face of what thou hast confronted.”

“But truly,” Csevet replied, demurely averted gaze hiding a hint of what might have been hysterical mirth as he bent to retrieve his rumpled tunic from the floor, “I could hardly consider this a successful encounter if you continued to be distracted and discomfited by my presence while guarding his Serenity.”

With a forwardness surprising even to himself, Deret reached out a hand to rest two gentle fingers on Csevet’s bared shoulder. “Then perhaps more of the same is in order to… accustom us to those conditions. Both of us.”

Csevet turned to face Deret, arms full of discarded clothes, storm-grey eyes shining with a mixture of emotions that Deret could hardly guess at the number and nature of. “Lieutenant, it would be our pleasure."


End file.
